


The Maker's Mercies

by queen_scribbles



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, rarepair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 11:23:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11645565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_scribbles/pseuds/queen_scribbles
Summary: But the one who repents, who has faith, unshaken by the darkness of the world...shall know the peace of the Maker's benediction~Transfigurations 10:1





	1. Dead Man Walking

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of oneshots for last year's Dragon Age AltPair week on tumblr. Didn't have an AO3 account then, so I'm moving them here now.
> 
> "Let me tell you a truth... no matter what choice you make, it doesn't define you. Not forever... No choice we make lasts our whole life." ~Jonathan Maberry, Dust & Decay

 

The first time he saw her, he thought he was hallucinating(and you could pick a cause--blood loss, hunger, dehydration, all were viable options). A holy warrior with fire in her eyes and a song on her lips, bolstering her companions' spirits even as arrows flew from her bow, taking down one of the walking corpses clawing at the bars of his cell. The other two fell to blades and magic and before he could stop himself, he blurted, "Who're you?"

  
( _Are you real?_ he wanted to ask, but Maker knew what they would have thought of his sanity.)  
  
The apparent leader, a woman clad in well-crafted leathers, raised an eyebrow. "Marta. But I feel like I should be asking _you_ that." She wiped ichor off one of her daggers and peered curiously at him as she sheathed it. "Are you the mage Lady Isolde mentioned?"  
  
His heart sank as he nodded. If Lady Isolde had told them about him, there was no chance of them doing anything but leaving him to rot--or killing him to save the undead the trouble. Both of which were no more than he deserved, but he couldn't help hoping... "My name's Jowan. Did she... did she tell you what I'd done?"  
  
Marta traded a look with the blond warrior behind her before sheathing the other dagger. "She mentioned some level of responsibility for the walking corpses and demons-what?"  
  
Jowan shook his head again, running a shaky hand through his hair. "I was already imprisoned when all that began. I..." The words stuck in his throat, but he had to say them. To confess to _someone_. "I poisoned Arl Eamon."  
  
The warrior stiffened at that, grip shifting on the hilt of his sword. Marta and the dark-haired mage behind her each raised an eyebrow. But the redhead archer barely flinched, blue eyes meeting his as if seeking something, and a faint smile of understanding tugging at her lips when she found it.  
  
"Why?" Marta frowned.  
  
"I was instructed to by Teyrn Loghain," he explained, knowing it probably sounded more like  an excuse. "He told me Arl Eamon was a threat to Ferelden."  
  
"And you just _believed_ him?!" the warrior burst out.  
  
"Alistair..." Marta said under her breath before giving Jowan an inscrutable look.  
  
"He's the hero of River Dane!" Jowan protested, heart sinking a little bit further. "And... he promised to fix things with the Circle. But he's abandoned me, hasn't he? It's all gone wrong, and it's my fault." _I just want to **fix things**..._    
  
The dark-haired mage snorted and crossed her arms. "And why, pray, would you desire such a thing?"  
  
"Because..." This confession was sticking even more than the last one. But he was a dead man walking anyway, what was one more torch on the pyre? "I'm a blood mage."  
  
"Ah." Marta nodded understanding, eyes still unreadable.  
  
Alistair wasn't nearly so taciturn. "Well, that's not good."  
  
 _Tell me something I don't know._ His left hand throbbed, stiff fingers curling in protectively.  
  
"He could still be of use to us," the mage argued. "Forbidden or no, blood magic is powerful. But if not, I say let him go."  
  
"Morrigan, are you insane? We can't just... _set a blood mage free!_ " Alistair sputtered vehemently.  
  
"Better to slay him? Better to make him pay _even more_ for his choices?" she shot back. "Is this Alistair who speaks, or the templar?"  
  
Well. _That_ explained a lot. But Jowan bit his tongue and let them talk. Morrigan's recommendation had caught him off-guard as much as it had her fellows. But even that didn't prepare him for the first words out of the redhead's mouth.  
  
"He wishes to redeem himself," she said softly. "Doesn't everyone deserve that chance?"  
  
"Like yourself, you mean?" Morrigan commented archly.  
  
The redhead ignored her. "Everyone deserve a chance to redeem themselves in the Maker's eyes. This man no less than any."  
  
 _I think I like your version of religion better than the Chantry's,_ Jowan thought to himself. He couldn't imagine any view that allowed forgiveness for blood mages had made her many friends, though.  
  
Marta sighed, fingers drumming against the hilts of her daggers. "Hypothetically speaking, _if_ I were too let you out, what would you do?"  
  
"I'd try to save anyone I could," he answered quickly, hardly able to believe they were even hypothetically discussing this.  
  
"Sure you would," Alistair muttered, just loud enough to be heard, which earned him a hard look from Marta.  
  
"That's commendable," she said, letting _If it's true_ hang unspoken. She bit her lower lip in thought for a moment, staring at him searchingly, then glanced at the redhead. The archer gave her an almost imperceptible nod, and she stepped forward, pulling out a set of lockpicks and kneeling before the cell door.  
  
 _I'm dreaming. There's no way this is really happening, no way anyone in their right mind would trust me. I don't deserve it..._ But the click of a vanquished lock and the grating squeal as the door swung open said otherwise. Still, he didn't move, couldn't. "So... what now?"  
  
"Now you help. Follow us," Marta replied, standing and heading for the stairs out of the dungeon.  
  
"I'm not sure that part's a good idea," Jowan said hastily, rolling one shoulder and feeling the sting of his robes pulling against poorly healed wounds. "I'm not in any shape to fight. I'd just get in your way. I'll wait a few minutes and follow, help any survivors I find." _Please, let there be survivors._   
  
"No way," Alistair protested, straight-up scowling at him. "We let you out of our sight and who's to say you won't run for it?" He glanced back over his shoulder toward whatever passage they'd used to enter.  
  
Jowan sighed, grabbed at the cell door to keep his balance as his knees wobbled. "And how far d'you think I'm going to make it? You're the first people I've seen in long enough to make me think they've forgotten about me. I haven't had anything to eat or drink in days. I promise, I will follow and help where I can, but I'd never be able to keep up the pace you'd need to set."  
  
With some grumbling, the warrior backed down. "We do need to hurry. Or Maker knows what we'll find."  
  
The others all nodded, and they filed toward the steps behind Marta. As they did, the redhead dropped back a few paces to hand him a half-full waterskin and a small bundle he assumed was food of some kind.  
  
"Why...?" The question trailed off as his stomach rumbled.  
  
"We wouldn't want you fainting before you have a chance to help anyone, would we?" she smiled, giving him a playful wink. "I'm Leliana. I feel you should know, in case we get an opportunity to talk later, no?"  
  
"I... think I'd like that," he mumbled, unable to fully meet her gaze. Her eyes might be blue, and her hair a different shade of red, but here and now she reminded him too strongly of another casualty left by his inability to make good decisions.  
  
"As would I," Leliana said, giving him another warm smile before hurrying to catch up with her friends.   
  
Jowan looked down at the food in his hands as her footsteps faded, glanced toward the passage they'd come through. It would be so easy... Just vanish, run off and hide someplace where no one would know he was or what he'd done. He wouldn't bother anyone, wouldn't have to face the consequences of the messes he kept leaving...  
  
"No," he whispered harshly, working the stopper out of the waterskin. "For once in my life, I'm doing the right thing."  
  
He took a few minutes to eat and drink, the dry bread and tepid water seeming like a feast. It was harder to manage than he'd expected, his left hand sluggish and stiff, the wounds throbbing worse the harder he tried to make it cooperate. But if a crippled and useless hand was really the _worst_ consequence he faced, it would be an unprecedented mercy.   
  
But the consequences would come later. For now, he was going to focus on helping.  
  
<><><><>  
  
There were, sadly, not many people to help. Even though he knew the demons and everything weren't his fault(at least not directly. But who knew what had caused all this), the guilt still gnawed at him. Jowan stepped over yet another pile of decaying corpses, riddled with arrows and magic, into yet another empty room, feeling his heart sink a little bit further when it was truly _empty_. The next door he tried, however, opened about half an inch and then stopped.  
  
"Hello?" he tried hesitantly.  
  
"Stay away!" a muffled yet terrified voice shrieked.  
  
"It's okay, it's okay! I'm a friend," he assured her, leaning one shoulder gingerly against the door so he could peer in.  
  
"Are... are you sure there aren't any monsters?"  
  
"None," he promised. _Unless I count..._ circling wryly in his head. "They're all dead."  
  
"Well... then... I suppose it's safe." She still sounded scared, and very, very young. But there was the tread of footsteps and a scraping sound as she removed whatever had been blocking the door. It opened to reveal a wide-eyed young woman with tousled blonde hair. "Are they really dead?"  
  
Jowan nodded. "If you're fast and quiet, you can get away. There's a tunnel down in the dungeon that leads out under the lake."  
  
"Maker bless you!" she breathed, and was off running before he could say another word.  
  
She was one of only three people he found alive as he followed the trail of dead(again) the castle's rescuers had left behind.  While it was better than none, it was still disheartening to be able to help so few.  
  
And the situation waiting in the main hall was even worse.  
  
<><><><>  
  
He'd missed the fight, apparently, which was probably a good thing, given that he was too drained to even think about spellcasting. But the conversation in progress was just as grim; Connor had been possessed while trying to find a way to help his father, and now they had to decide the best way to handle a demon-controlled child. Marta was understandably adamant they weren't going to kill him unless there was no other choice. But no one was giving her any other options.  
  
So Jowan stepped into the hall and offered one. A ritual that was just about the extent of his knowledge regarding blood magic. Even suggesting it turned his stomach, but they wanted options, and he could get someone into the Fade to face the demon responsible--without harming Connor. He was relieved, however, when she flatly refused to even _consider_ blood magic. It made the hard looks from Isolde and Teagan--and the former's blistering hot anger--easier to bear, knowing someone with _principles_ was calling the shots. He might be a dead man walking, but maybe she could save Connor from the same fate.  
  
"Wait, I have it." Marta tapped a finger against her chin and pointed at him. "You say you need a lot of power to get someone--a mage--into the Fade, right? Why couldn't we just use lyrium instead of blood?"  
  
"You could," Jowan nodded slowly. "You'd need a lot of it, though. You'd have to go to the Circle."  
  
"Can we risk that?" Alistair asked, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don't get me wrong, it _is_ our best option, but even if we cut across the lake, it's going to take a few days. What if Connor-"  
  
"I'm willing to take that risk," Marta cut him off. "It's better than killing a child or his mother, and we need to go there anyway."  
  
Teagan's expression was a mix of relief and concern as he wished them all speed on their journey., but hardened as he turned and clapped a hand down on Jowan's shoulder. "If you're serious about wanting to help, you can keep an eye on Connor. Make sure he stays calm, so we don't have another wave of undead to worry about." He gave the mage a none-too-gentle shove toward the stairs, nodding at one of the surviving guards to follow him.   
  
Jowan went quietly, biting down on a yelp as keeping his balance renewed aches and reopened at least a couple of the smaller wounds hidden under his robes. He and his 'escort' had made it to the top of the stairs and started down the hallway when a familiar, accented voice called out from behind them.  
  
"Wait!" Leliana emerged from the staircase, brushing hair back from her face. "I volunteered to stay and help. Two pairs of eyes will be better than one, no?"  
  
"And whaddya think I'll be doin', starin' at the wall?" the guard grunted.  
  
"Three, then," Leliana said with a disarming smile. "I assumed your duties would be more watching him-" a nod toward Jowan- "than watching Connor."  
  
"Yer mostly right," the guard allowed, "but I can keep an eye on the boy as well as the traitor."  
  
If the dig was intended to get a reaction out of him, it failed. Between the exhaustion, guilt, and fading adrenaline, someone could have spat in his face and Jowan wouldn't have so much as flinched.  
  
They found Connor in his room, humming nonsense to himself as he stared at the wall. Quietly they closed the door and settled in to watch him.  
  
"Are you alright?" Leliana whispered, catching Jowan's wince as he forgot himself and slouched in the chair.  
  
"No, it's nothing," he insisted, sitting upright as a dull ache spread through his back. "I'm fine."  
  
"Liar," she murmured, craning her neck to see his back.  
  
"Yes, I am, actually," he returned dryly. "About so much more than this."  
  
He saw it in her eyes, the moment she saw the extent of it. She muttered briefly in a foreign tongue--Orlesian, maybe?--before gesturing to the guard. "What is your name?"  
  
"Bren," came the almost wary reply.  
  
"Bren, I need some bandages, and perhaps a small jar of healing salve, if possible, please."  
  
Bren's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why? He bleeds to death, it'll be better'n he deserves."  
  
"Leliana, you don't have to-" He didn't even make it all the way through the protest before she silenced him with a look. So. Underneath the gentle, freckle-faced exterior, she was not to be trifled with. Good to know.  
  
"I disagree," she said softly, staring hard at Bren. "I believe he deserves to be treated with a modicum of human decency. A view I'm fairly certain the Warden _shares,_ no? So please bring me some bandages. The salve I can do without, if it's in short supply, but the bandages I need. Now."  
  
Biting back a ready argument, Bren spun and left the room.  
  
Leliana raised an eyebrow at the guard's retreating back. "Apparently, they were instructed to accommodate us whatever we ask. Interesting."  
  
"You _really_ didn't need to do that," Jowan muttered. "Not for-" _A liar. A traitor. A blood mage. A screw-up._ "Not for me."  
  
"Jowan, you are bleeding through your robes," she said gently, lightly touching a spot near his shoulder blade. "I don't care what you've done, I can't just leave you like this."  
  
"And which chantry taught you beliefs like _that_?" he said under his breath.  
  
Leliana shook her head. "Not any _chantry_ , per se. More one Revered Mother in particular."  
  
"With views like that, I'm surprised she made it to Revered Mother."  
  
"She is... charismatic enough it's not yet been an issue," the archer murmured, lightly running one hand over his back. "And I don't think she made a habit of over-sharing. I was a lost girl, scared and desperately in need of hope. So she gave me some. Do you have any attachment to this set of robes?"  
  
It took him a second to process the shift in conversation. "Not... really. They aren't in any shape to be saved, anyway."  
  
" _Bien_ ," she nodded. "Because I think this is going to be the least painful way for me to see what I am dealing with, no?" With that, she slid a small knife from inside her boot and carefully slit open the back of his robes from waist to neck.  
  
Jowan grimaced and sucked in a harsh breath through his nose as the fabric stuck to half-healed wounds. He heard Leliana's breath catch as the fullness of what she would be dealing with was revealed.  
  
"These..." she stopped, began again, voice barely more than a whisper filled with the conviction of experience. "These aren't from combat. Or self-inflicted."  
  
He shrugged, which hurt, and told the truth, which didn't(for once). "Lady Isolde thought I was responsible for the demons and undead in the castle. She wanted me to make them stop." He glanced up at Connor, still curled up on his bed. "I couldn't, because they _weren't_ my doing--not directly, anyway--and... she didn't want to take no for an answer."  
  
"So she had you _tortured_?"  
  
"It's not like I deserve any better," Jowan mumbled.  
  
Leliana snorted, circled the chair to kneel in front of him and bring them to eye level. "Whatever justice your crimes may warrant, I doubt it extends to... to _this_!"  
  
"Doesn't it? I failed to properly instruct her son, who is now possessed by a demon, and poisoned her husband. I think she's a little bit justified to hate me. And if a traitorous, lying blood mage doesn't deserve this, then who does?"  
  
She cocked her head and looked at him sadly for a moment. "Well, I would argue no one does," she countered as she crossed the room to borrow the washbasin and towel from Connor's dresser. "But I would also argue that if you were misled by someone you should be able to trust, made to think you were _helping_ your country, rather than hurting it, it's not the same as deliberately committing treason."  
  
There was something in her voice that made him wonder if the words were as much for herself as for him. But any protest he might have offered died when she started washing the blood off his back and he had to swallow a yelp instead. "... _Ow_."  
  
"Only way it's going to get better, no?" Leliana reminded him, her touch gentle yet determined as she peeled back bloody cloth and continued cleaning wounds.  
  
This time, Jowan's intended reply was silenced by Bren's return, the guard's presence shattering any illusion of privacy even as Leliana gratefully plucked the proffered bandages and a small tin of salve from outstretched hands. The cloud of suspicion that followed Bren into the room put a damper on any further discussion--theological or otherwise--so Jowan just sat in silence and kept an eye on Connor as Leliana tended to his back, an occasional wince tugging at his lips. He really didn't mind the pain, though. It reminded him that he was--somehow--still alive, and as long as he was alive he could keep trying to fix his mess.  
  
<><><><>  
  
All told, it was four days before the party that ventured to the Circle returned. Four days of watching Connor, of expecting every little sneeze or twitch to herald the demon's re-emergence. But either it had retreated to lick its wounds--unlikely--or was waiting to see what they had planned. After the second day passed without incident, Teagan accepted Leliana's promise she could and would handle things on her own and stopped assigning a guard inside the room. They were still patrolling the hallways, but the lack of a constantly glaring presence in the room was a relief. As was--he had to admit--the change of clothes Leliana wheedled out of a guard. The material was rough, and they had obviously belonged to a larger man, but they were _clean_. And not a bloody, constant reminder of everything he'd ruined.  
  
"You're awfully persuasive," Jowan commented, gingerly pulling on the loose red shirt before shucking the ruined remains of his robes. The pants were similarly loose, but he rescued the waistcord from his robes to solve _that_ problem.  
  
"It's a gift," Leliana replied easily, giving him a sense she was dodging deeper implications. "It helps to be able to read people well, know what to say to make them... receptive to your request."  
  
"I take it you're good at that, too?" he probed, tossing his robes into the fire. _I wish I could get rid of the bad choices so easily._  
  
"As a matter of fact, yes. I am." The light tone was gone, and when he turned around, she was looking at him intently.  
  
"Don't start that again, Leliana," he said with a sigh, running one hand carefully through his hair. Thanks to her, the wounds on his back were starting to heal, but pulling at them still hurt. "You don't know what I've done." _Lily's in prison, Felix is probably dead by now, Arl Eamon might still die, Connor's possessed..._   
  
Leliana gave a short, dry laugh, tugging at his sleeve so he would sit next to her. "And _you_ don't know what _I've_ done, no? Marta is also good at reading people, almost as good as I am. So long as your heart and your intentions are good, she doesn't allow past actions to condemn you."  
  
"That sounds like it would be nice," Jowan murmured, barely above a whisper, fiddling with the bandages around his left hand. "But I-"  
  
"If you say you don't deserve mercy or a second chance one more time, I may hit you," Leliana warned, tone light yet still serious as she cut him off. "That's the _whole point_ of mercy, Jowan, and of most second chances; that you _don't_ deserve it and someone gives it to you anyway because they believe you can do better." She pulled his hand away. "And stop playing with that, you'll make it worse."  
  
"I don't think I _can_ ," he said wryly, showing her the severely limited range of motion left in those fingers. "One more thing I ruined."  
  
She _tsk_ ed at him. "Maybe one of the mages who return with them will be a healer, and can help more than I could, no?"  
  
"Maybe," he sighed, though he knew the odds were slim. Not that it mattered; he was as good as dead anyway. What would it change if he'd lost function in one hand?  
  
When Marta and the others did return, they had several mages in tow and a look in their eyes that said things hadn't exactly gone according to plan. And when Leliana asked what happened, Alistair returned some quip about an uprising and having to fight blood mages and demons, "You know, the usual complications". Leliana rolled her eyes and went to talk to Marta instead, leaving Jowan standing by himself in the corner to watch as First Enchanter Irving and the others prepared for the ritual.  
  
 _Please let this work_. He wasn't even sure who he was asking, since he doubted the Maker or Andraste listened to blood mages. But he desperately wanted to set this right, for at least one of the people suffering for his actions to be saved.  
  
Despite that, no one was more surprised than he was when Marta named _him_ the one to enter the Fade and fight the demon. Even in the face of protests from Alistair and Irving, she remained adamant. "He's made it clear he wants to help fix things, so I trust him to do the right thing. And if I'm wrong, there's enough of us to subdue him. Need I bring up our recently acquired experience fighting abominations?"  
  
That quieted both of them, though neither looked happy.  
  
"Whatever I can do to help," Jowan promised as he stepped forward, sending Leliana a questioning look. _Did you have anything to do with this?_   
  
She subtly shook her head, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she watched him mentally connect the dots. If she hadn't said anything to Marta, and the leader had made that decision on her own...  
  
 _Maybe Leliana was right._ It was his last conscious thought before the ritual reached its peak and he felt himself falling...  
  
<><><><>  
  
 _This is different._ He'd seen the Fade before when dreaming, every mage did. But it felt clearer, more present, this time. It was still murky around the edges, and Jowan was still very aware he was't really 'here', but the sharper detail was just a little unsettling.  
  
"Okay. Right. Time to find a demon," he muttered, trying to forget Irving's theorizing it was a _desire_ demon. _That_ was a level of pressure he didn't need. He took a deep breath and tried to remember some of the details Felix had shared about his Harrowing, hoping to recall something that would help. But Felix had talked more about fighting the demon than finding it.   
  
So Jowan set off in search of his own demon. And after several false leads and wrong turns--complete with fear and anger from spirits that looked like Connor and Eamon--he found her. Irving had been right; the demon controlling Connor was of the desire variety, and she lived up to it. She flashed through human forms she thought would persuade him, hair two different shades of red, hitting guilt and hope and every note in between, before offering power, wealth, knowledge.  
  
A dry, mirthless chuckle escaped him at the increasingly honeyed attempts. "I'm not changing my mind, demon. I probably won't live long enough to enjoy any of the things you promise, anyway, even if I believed you. I'd rather stick with atoning for what I've done."  
  
"Are you sure?" she pouted, face morphing back into Lily's.  
  
"I'm sure. I've been given a chance to do the right thing, and for once in my life, I'm going to take it." _Even if it kills me._   
  
"Very well, mortal," the demon hissed, shedding the more human appearance. "No more illusions. Face me, and I will be the last thing you see before you perish!"  
  
Jowan narrowly avoided the torrent of cold magic that poured from her clawed hands and retaliated with a fire spell. No going back now.  
  
It was a hard fight, especially given the shifting, disconcerting nature of the Fade and the fact his opponent could create multiple versions of herself at will. But he won. A fact that took a second to sink in as he stood, breathing hard, the demon's piercing death cry still ringing in his ears. Even as it _did_ settle in that he was alive and the demon wasn't, the surrounding portion of the Fade began to deteriorate and dissolve, hearkening his return to the waking world.  
  
<><><><>  
  
He woke with a splitting headache, but that was the least of his worries. "How's Connor?"  
  
"Asleep still, but he seems... peaceful. Settled." Marta replied, her extended hand coming into focus as he blinked away the residual foggy spots and his vision cleared. "You did a good job."  
  
"Good, that's... I'm glad he's alright." He accepted the offered hand up. _Glad I didn't screw this up, too._ "What now?"  
  
"Now _you_ go back in a cell," Teagan said. "Connor may be out of danger, but Eamon is still comatose."  
  
Jowan winced but nodded. That was only fair. But at least Connor was safe, and that was enough for now. So he followed the assigned guard back down to the dungeon without complaint or resistance. He did get a different cell this time--one _not_ reeking of decaying flesh--for which he was grateful.   
  
And about half an hour after he got settled, he had a visitor. He heard her on the stairs, quiet but not silent.  
  
"Does Teagan know you're down here?" he asked, fiddling with his bandaged left hand.  
  
"I don't know," Leliana shrugged as she slowed to a stop outside his cell. "But it doesn't really matter. I have nothing to hide. I just wanted to let you know that Marta was able to persuade him and Isolde not to... do anything until we get back."  
  
"Not to execute me, you mean," Jowan said wryly, leaning his head back against the wall. "As I so richly deserve."  
  
She sighed. "Not just that. There will be no more mistreatment, and they'll feed you at least somewhat regularly." A pause, and something on her armor rustled. "However, just in case..." She pressed a waterskin through the bars, travel-worn, a small Chantry sunburst charm glinting from one of its straps.  
  
"I... thank you." He took the waterskin, sat it on the floor, and asked the question that had been bothering him since the first time he heard her speak. "Leliana... why do you care? About me, I mean. Why's it matter to you what happens to me?"  
  
Leliana smiled, hands resting on the bars of his cell, fingers mere centimeters away from his. "Maybe I've taken to heart the Maker's admonition that we care for everyone, not just those who are easy and acceptable by society's standards. Or maybe I truly believe you are sorry for the mistakes you've made thus far and wish to do better with your life. Perhaps both." Something--a memory?--darkened her eyes. "Or maybe I choose to believe in the idea of second chances. Maybe I _need_ to believe in them." She pushed away from the bars. "I'll take the waterskin back when we return, no? And what did I tell you about playing with the bandages?" Leliana half-smiled in gentle reproof before turning away. And with that, she walked out of the dungeon, and--he was sure--what remained of his life for good. Still, she'd given enough hints he couldn't help hoping, just a little....  
  
And hope was a dangerous thing.  


	2. Throwing Stones

 

He looked so lost. Leliana smiled to herself as she watched the newest member of their group survey the campsite and pick at the cuff of his sleeve.  
  
_At least he stopped fiddling with the bandages, hearing it from Wynne,_ a little voice in her head pointed out, and she did have to concede that. When they'd returned from Haven, it had been blatantly obvious Jowan had either ignored or forgotten Leliana's admonition not to mess with the bandages around his left hand. So she'd sicced Wynne on him while Marta talked to Teagan, both hoping and suspecting the older mage would give him a stern enough lecture he'd remember not to do it anymore.  
  
Apparently it had worked. Even as his expression and body language reminded her of the refugees in Lothering--mildly stunned and feel completely out of his depth--he left the bandages alone to instead worry loose threads in his shirt.  
  
"You _can_ relax, you know," she commented as she approached, resting one hand on his arm.  
  
Jowan flinched and then blushed. "Sorry, I'm just... still half convinced this is a dream or something, that..." He raked his good hand through his hair as he let the sentence trail off.  
  
"That you'll wake up back in a cell," Leliana supplied, smiling sympathetically. She remembered that feeling. "Or that a messenger will come running over the hill saying Arl Eamon changed his mind, the Wardens can't have you, you need to pay for your crimes?"  
  
He gave her a weak smile. "Something like that."  
  
"Well, I promise this isn't a dream," she assured him. "And from what I've seen, the Right of Conscription is inarguable, and will give you far more chance to atone than simply dying, no? And if how being a Warden affects Marta and Alistair is any indication, this is not 'letting you off easy' or anything."  
  
"Good." Jowan pushed up his sleeves, glanced around at the others. "Because-"  
  
The rest of what he was going to say was lost, as Marta's mabari returned from exploring and realized there was a _new person_ to greet. He came galloping over, checked his stride just a _little_ too late, and then apologized for knocking the mage over by vigorously and repeatedly licking his face.  
  
"No, Bear, stop that! Heel, boy!" Leliana snapped her fingers and instantly the big dog backed off and sat next to her. "See, Bear likes you," she giggled as she helped Jowan back to his feet. "So you can't be all bad."  
  
"While that may be an excellent point, I think he, you, and Marta are the only ones who do. Like me, I mean." He brushed dirt off his clothes and gave Bear's ears a scratch. The dog _woof_ ed and went bounding away to find his owner.  
  
She shrugged. "Alistair will come around eventually once he sees what you're actually like instead of believing everything he's been taught about blood mages. Morrigan and Sten are more or less indifferent to _everyone_ , and Zevran is new enough I'm not really sure about him. Considering he's an assassin, though, I hardly think he'll be throwing stones."  
  
"What about Wynne?" Jowan glanced toward the healer, who was checking on one of Marta's healing injuries.  
  
"I think she is torn between knowing your intention were good and knowing you are a blood mage," Leliana conceded. "But you probably know her better than I do, no? Marta _does_ trust you, or she wouldn't have conscripted you, and _I_ like having you to talk to." Before he could question _why_ , she cleared her throat and changed topics. "But we should figure out where to set up your tent..."  
  
"I don't _have_ one," he reminded her, something in his eyes clearly planning to ferret out her reasons sooner or later.  
  
"I think we have some extras, bedrolls, too. I'll grab one for you." She quickly headed for Bodahn's wagon, rummaging through the crates of found goods from their travels until she dug out the necessary items. The only tent available was a little ragged, but it would have to do. "Any ideas where you'd like to be?" she asked Jowan as she rejoined him.  
  
He shrugged. "Anywhere relatively flat is good, I guess...."  
  
That turned out to be easier said than done, but they eventually found a spot halfway between the main circle of tents and Morrigan's self-imposed exile. Leliana helped him set everything up, fairly sure that between the Circle upbringing and the still-limited functionality of his left hand, he'd need the assistance--even if he was too shy to ask for it.  
  
"Thank you," Jowan said quietly when they were done. "It's the best I've had in months, really."  
  
"Not a problem," Leliana assured him. "That's what friends are for, no?"  
  
He gave a harsh laugh. "Trust me, Leliana, you don't want to be my friend. They're the first casualties of my decision making skills, or lack thereof."  
  
She smiled and winked at him. "I think I'll risk it."  
  
<><><><>  
  
It was risk that proved worthwhile. Even as her predictions came true--Zevran was amiable(downright flirty once he realized how _red_ he could make Jowan blush), Alistair warmed as he realized Jowan being a blood mage didn't make the man a monster--her own friendship with the mage deepened. Despite not going into detail about their respective pasts, the two of them both honed in on the fact they had a common ulterior motive in working with Marta to save the world: redemption. And to his credit, Jowan never pried into why _she_ needed redemption, or how a Chantry lay sister knew how to fight so well.  
  
"You ever want me to know, you'll tell me," he shrugged when she thanked him. "Otherwise... I know all about having a past you want to forget. I'll be the last one throwing stones over secrets."  
  
She thanked him for _that_ with a kiss on the cheek that made him blush to his ears. (Not that she thought anything of it; he blushed when complimented, when Zevran playfully hit on him--which was downright _funny_ if she was honest, when he was embarrassed... there were a large number of reasons.)  
  
It wasn't until they finished what Alistair joking called a 'do-gooder spree' and went in search of the Dalish elves that Jowan seemed to start feeling like he fit in. It took a week and a half of searching to find one of the clans that didn't try to kill them on sight, and even they seemed less than thrilled to have a party of humans walking through their camp. The Keeper, Zathrian, was friendly but apologetic, citing a werewolf problem as reason why they couldn't fulfill the treaty. The whole time he and Marta were speaking, however, a familiar sense kept tweaking the back of Leliana's mind. And when their leader took her leave of Keeper Zathrian, she'd figured it out.  
  
"He's lying." Jowan said the words at the same time as she did, and the two of them shared a look as Alistair raised an eyebrow and Marta let slip a bemused smile--though whether at their certainty or this being the first unsolicited opinion Jowan had given since joining them, Leliana couldn't say.  
  
"What makes you think that?" Marta asked, crossing her arms as she waited for their replies.  
  
Leliana chose her words carefully, but still was first to answer. "I have a gift for reading people. Even if Zathrian isn't lying, he isn't telling us the whole truth, no?"  
  
"That's what it seemed like to me," Jowan chipped in. "More that he's keeping something from us, than directly lying. And I know what _that_ looks like from... previous experience. "  
  
He seemed to share Leliana's relief when Marta didn't press, just nodded. "I agree. Good instincts, you two."  
  
It was only the first evidence of how closely the two of them had bonded. Multiple times as they searched the woods for the wolf Zathrian claimed was the source of the curse, they had an uncanny sense of timing when it came to saving each others' necks. It got to the point Alistair started teasing they were mentally linked or something.  
  
Until Leliana gave him a knowing look. "Like you and Marta, no?"  
  
He stopped after that, though it wouldn't have surprised her if he was keeping a running tally in his head of who saved who how many times. Which was frankly ridiculous, Leliana thought to herself as the Wardens cleared rubble away from a ruined temple entrance. She didn't care more about any one member of their group than the others. And then she caught sight of the werewolf, skulking through the shadows that dominated the first chamber. It was approaching the group as a whole, but its dull eyes were fixed on the mage.  
  
She had nocked and fired an arrow even before the wordless cry of warning tore from her throat, her hands moving by instinct, a prayer for protection spilling out after her cry.  
  
Even injured and having lost the element of surprise, the werewolf persisted in lunging toward Jowan. Leliana's second arrow caught it just behind its ear even as his fire spell hit it dead center in the chest.  
  
"Thanks for the save," he said gratefully, staring at the gangly corpse.  
  
She shrugged, tucking hair behind her ear. "That's what friends are for, no?"  
  
There were many more attacks like that one, and Leliana always managed to convince herself her racing heart afterwards was due to fading adrenaline. And nothing else.  
  
<><><><>  
  
By the time they got everything sorted, found out what Zathrian was hiding--his involvement in the curse--and worked out a peaceful solution, as Marta was wont to do, Leliana was tired. She was tired of having to remain on her guard, tired of shooting werewolves off her companions, tired of fighting, just _tired_. Still, it was almost habit to pick up her lute when they got back to camp, fingers moving lazily in a memorized tune. She missed a note, growled softly in frustration, and started over.  
  
"It still sounded fine, y'know," Jowan commented, appearing out of the gathering dusk.  
  
"Not to a musician's ear," Leliana chuckled, scooting to the side so he could sit next to her.  
  
He took her up on the unspoken invitation. "Maybe not, but I was enjoying it, all the same."  
  
"Is that why your tent's been inching closer to us than no-man's-land?" she teased, lightly bumping her shoulder against his.  
  
"And here I thought I was being _subtle_ ," he laughed wryly, face shading pink even as he grinned.  
  
"Oh, you are," Leliana assured him playfully. "It took me almost a week to catch on, and I don't think anyone else has noticed yet."  
  
"If they do, I'll play it off as wanting to be part of the camaraderie or something, rather than the fact that I like listening to you sing."  
  
She missed a chord. "Really?"  
  
"Really." Jowan frowned as he nodded. "Is there something surprising about that?"  
  
"No, I just... it's been a long time since someone complimented me without wanting something, no?" Leliana smiled and strummed the chord she'd missed.  
  
He smiled back without a trace of his usual bashfulness. "That's what friends are for, isn't it?"  
  
She laughed. "That and watching your back."

<><><><>  
  
They both got a chance to prove the latter part the very next night, when warning cries from Marta and Alistair pulled them all awake just as nightmarish, long-limbed darkspawn attacked the camp. The Wardens had already moved to stand back to back by the time Leliana emerged from her tent. She nocked an arrow and waited, loosing it as soon as one of the shrieking monstrosities showed itself. Half of the arrow's shaft buried itself in the darkspawn's neck, and it went down with a final scream. This drew the attention of two more, which came barreling toward her with cries of hateful rage.  
  
Until their clawed feet hit the sheet of ice that suddenly coated the ground between them and her. The skidding, flailing darkspawn were no match for Bear's teeth and Zevran's blades.  
  
" _Merci_ ," she smiled gratefully at the dark-haired mage as he reached her side.  
  
Jowan just nodded as he adjusted his angle so they could watch each other's back. It was a strategy that worked very well against the darkspawn they currently faced, who would vanish from attacking one person and reappear to hassle someone else. One by one, however, the gangly darkspawn met their end, to blades, arrows, magic... mabari teeth, in a couple cases.  
  
"Alright... how's every one doing?" Marta asked, breathing hard, as the last creature fell dead.  
  
They'd gotten off relatively light, considering; a couple tents knocked over, Bear had a shallow cut across one paw, Alistair and Sten had minor injuries, but it could have been a lot worse. As Marta fussed over Bear, and Wynne saw to Alistair and Sten, Leliana beelined for where Jowan's--now collapsed--tent had been set up.  
  
"Good thing you've been moving closer, no?" she teased as she approached.  
  
"Heh." Jowan gave a short laugh, focus mostly on seeing if the tent could be salvaged. "It did come in handy, didn't it?"  
  
"Very much so." She sat next to him to help separate canvas from the broken wood of the tent poles. "Thank you for having my back. Knowing I was safe from at least one direction helped a great deal."  
  
He shrugged, mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You're welcome. I have it on good authority that's what friends are for."  
  
She threw a wood chip at him. It bounced harmlessly off his shoulder and he laughed as he retaliated with the first thing he got his hands on. However, he was laughing hard enough the small pebble missed her completely and went flying into the darkness beyond the camp.  
  
"Even from such close range," Leliana teased, _tsk_ ing a mock remonstrance. "Such terrible aim."  
  
"Aim is _your_ strong suit," Jowan pointed out. "Most of the time I'm either concentrating on a specific person or just need to be facing the right direction."  
  
"Very true," she conceded gracefully, freeing a broken pole from the snaring canvas and casting it aside. "Did you have anything breakable in here?"  
  
He shook his head. "Should just be books. Nothing to cut tho- your hands on."  
  
"Good to know." She stood and started gathering the canvas. That seemed undamaged so far; hopefully they could just find new poles. As she pulled it toward her, a book tumbled free of the folds, flopping open as the spine hit the ground. "Oh, sorry." She bent and picked it up, the canvas laying forgotten on the ground when she saw what filled the pages. "Did... you do these?"  
  
Jowan nodded, scratching behind his ear as his face crinkled in a sheepish--almost apologetic--smile. "Most of them. Felix 'borrowed' it once or twice to doodle, but yes, most of those are mine."  
  
Leliana raised an eyebrow as she paged through the sketchbook. "You're good."  
  
"Thanks," he shrugged, getting to his feet as well. "I had lots of time to practice. It started as little things in spellbook margins, but as I got older, the classes got longer and more boring, so I started drawing more. Needed a separate book for them to go in."  
  
She flipped back to the beginning, fanned through a few pages, seeing sketches of people, tower hallways. copied illustration of demons, the occasional spider, before she closed it and handed it back. "You've had that sketchbook a while, no? It's almost full, and I can see the progress from earlier to later."  
  
He nodded, fingers curling around the dog-eared cover. "Nice to know I'm improving."  
  
"The early ones are good, too," Leliana clarified hastily. "Your lines get clearer, more confident, and there are more details in the recent ones. That's all I meant."  
  
Another shrug. "Always good to be better, though, isn't it?"  
  
This time, she nodded. "And you are, Jowan. In more ways than just that." A gesture toward the sketchbook. She knew what he really meant, what haunted him most. "Any particular reason this has stayed a secret?"  
  
Jowan sighed, running his free hand through his hair. "Not so much secret as I didn't think anyone would care. I mean, what you do; the- the stories and the music and the singing... You inspire people, you lift their spirits, you _help_ them. I see it all the time when we're in battle, you start singing about Ser Aveline, or...or the Battle of Ayesleigh or whatever and it _helps_. Or back here-" he gestured toward the camp- "after a hard day, like today. Your songs help people. My talent, my habit... doesn't. It just helps me."  
  
Leliana smiled and rubbed his arm encouragingly. "And that's okay. You think Marta writing in her diary helps anyone other than Marta? But if it _really_ bothers you, I'm sure you could find some way to use it to help people."  
  
He smiled back, hesitant yet grateful. "You're right, of course. Thank you. For that and helping with my tent."  
  
He smile widened as she said the familiar words. "That's what friends are for, no? I'm glad I could help."  
  
The next night was the first of many that found quick but clean-lined sketches of flowers tucked in the strings of her lute or resting on her pillow when she returned to her tent.  
  
She kept every single one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can have my artist!Jowan headcanon when you pry it from my cold, dead hands. :P


	3. Normal

 

Three nights. It took three nights of waking in a cold sweat, her dreams too closely resembling her past, before Leliana decided maybe she needed to tell somebody. And another two to work up the courage.  
  
When she did find the nerve to cross the short distance between their tent and push out the words _I need to talk to you_ , Jowan instantly marked his page, closed the spellbook, and gave her his full attention. Moved--and slightly overwhelmed--by his reaction, she plunged into the story of her past as a bard. She didn't glaze over any of what she'd done, or her relationship with Marjolaine, or the love she'd felt for the older woman and the ease with which Marjolaine manipulated her, used her, betrayed her. Somewhere around the dagger sinking into her gut and her being left to the (non-existent) mercies of Captain Raleigh, Jowan almost hesitantly covered her hand with his, his eyes saying _I'm sorry_ even if his lips couldn't form the words. She turned her hand over and linked her fingers between his as she continued.  
  
She _did_ skim a little over the torture. Raleigh had been a creative, sadistic man, and she no more needed to relive all he'd done than Jowan needed to hear it. So she left it at a mention and hurried on to Dorothea's rescue. Even her brief hint elicited a sympathetic hand squeeze. But he still didn't say a word. Not as she recounted the escape, or Dorothea's pep talk, or the revenge she and Silas and Sketch had sought.  
  
"But she got away," Leliana sighed at the end of her tale. "I let her live. And... went back to Dorothea and joined the Chantry. I've spent my time since trying to be a better person. And I hope you don't think less of me now that you know this."  
  
"I don't think you have anything to worry about, there," Jowan murmured. "I'm more speechless that you would trust me with this than anything else. I won't tell anyone."  
  
"Thank you," she whispered, squeezing his hand back. It felt like a weight off her shoulders to tell someone, and for that someone to treat it with solemnity and care... it meant more to her than she could put into words.  
  
"It's what friends are for," he whispered back. "And thank you for trusting me. I'll be sure to return the favor sometime soon."  
  
"You don't have to-"  
  
"But I want to. Not now, but... soon," he finished lamely. They sat in silence until the moment bordered on awkward, and then Jowan straightened, eyes brightening. "I have something for you, by the way."  
  
"Do tell." She tried to downplay her rising curiosity and hide the sense of inexplicable loss when he let go of her hand to lean back inside his tent.  
  
"I've been working on it since we left the Dalish," Jowan explained, voice muffled by the tent until he emerged with his sketchbook in hand. "Some of the details were hard, but I really wanted it to look right." He slid a loose sheet of vellum out from just inside the front cover. "Here."  
  
"Ooo!" Her eyes lit up, melancholy fading as she accepted the picture. "It's the tree! Thank you!" She hadn't exactly hidden how charmed she'd been by the Rhyming Oak in the Brecilian Forest, but the amount of detail in the sketch was almost unbelievable. Just the thought he had put that much effort into something for her... She hugged him, ignoring the brief flinch before he hugged her back. "I love it. Any particular reason, or is it just because?"  
  
"Just 'cause," Jowan replied as they sat back. "I mean, I think we're somewhere near a month since Marta conscripted me, but it's just a thank you. For being my friend at a point when the world and I were in agreement I didn't deserve one."  
  
"You and the world were wrong," Leliana retorted, still grinning at the drawing.  
  
"And you were the only one to call me on it. You were kind. You cared. And this is just one small part of me beginning to return the favor."  
  
"Jowan, this must've taken _hours_ ; I would hardly call it _small_ ," she protested, looking at him.  
  
"You were a large contributing factor to _saving my life_ ," he countered. "Compared to that? Pretty damn small."  
  
"Alright, I'll give you that one. But I'm not looking to be repaid for my friendship," Leliana pointed out.  
  
"I know," he assured her. "Think of it as a reminder that I'll be there for you like you've been there for me."  
  
"That I can do," she nodded, still smiling as she gave him a peck on the cheek and rose to head back to her tent. She'd known trusting him would be a good move. That night she slept better than she had in almost a full week.  
  
<><><><>  
  
The timing of their conversation proved to be almost fortuitous. They were ambushed the next day, just a couple hours shy of exiting the Brecilian Forest. It _was_ the perfect place for it, Jowan had to admit; hills on either side of the narrow path both corralled them and provided the attackers a good vantage point, said path was winding enough to make a snake jealous, and at one point even crossed over a small rocky stream before doubling back to climb the hill where some of their attackers stood.  
  
"Watch out!" Leliana yanked him to the side and an arrow snapped against the rocky embankment that had been _behind_ his head a few seconds before.  
  
"Alistair, Leliana, you try to make your way across that bridge and up," Marta instructed rapidly, drawing her daggers as more of the bandits emerged from the surrounding woods. "Jowan and I will deal with this lot."  
  
"Right," the warrior nodded, raising his shield to deflect another arrow. "Come on, Leliana."  
  
The battle was brief but fierce, and it was _killing_ him that the windy nature of the path meant their only clue as to Alistair and Leliana's progress was the cries of warning or triumph or pain--and what sounded like an explosion at one point.  
  
"Focus!" Marta hissed when that distracted him, even as she gutted the assassin trying to take advantage of Jowan's lack of concentration.  
  
"Sorry." He froze a looming warrior and two trailing rogues with a blast of magic, brittle enough the warrior shattered when Marta slammed her daggers against him. Jowan had just flung a stonefist at one of the rogues when an arrow came whistling down from the hill and--more by luck than any talent of the bowman responsible--buried itself in his arm just above the elbow.  
  
His cry of pain was more instinct than anything else. It hurt, yes, but far less than stabbing through his own hand. He winced but waved Marta off when she raised an eyebrow in concern. _I'll be fine._ Gritting his teeth, he snapped off the shaft so it wouldn't catch on anything. Another arrow twanged into the ground near his feet, and in frustration he lobbed another fist-sized lump of rock toward the archer responsible.  
  
It shattered on the outcropping below her feet, but before she could nock another arrow, an unfamiliar voice rang out. " _HOLD!_ "  
  
All of the surviving bandits froze instantly. A man in gleaming silverite armor appeared at the crest of one hill, a dagger held to his throat.  
  
"You heard him, no?" Leliana called out, arm firm around the leader's neck. "Now drop your weapons!"  
  
Even as they obeyed, Marta and Jowan made their way along the path and up the hill. Alistair was keeping an eye on the surviving archers when they made it, and Leliana was still holding her dagger to the leader's throat.  
  
"Any particular reason you made this call?" Marta asked, jaw noticeably tightening when she saw the bard's newly-acquired black eye, the fresh gash across Alistair's forehead, and the mildly singed state of their armor.  
  
"Look at their weapons, their armor, their tactics," Leliana replied. "These are not common bandits. I thought you might want to find out who they are."  
  
Marta nodded and locked eyes with the leader. "Well?"  
  
"Well, for started, I'm someone who regrets takin' you lot on," he answered ruefully. "Knew you'd be trouble, but not that much..."  
  
"Why did you, then?" Alistair demanded.  
  
"We had orders," the man retorted, trying to shift so Leliana's blade wasn't quite so tight against his throat. "Kill the red-haired girl, and do as we pleased with the rest."  
  
"Kill the..." Leliana's grip slacked for a second in surprise. "Who's trying to kill me?!"  
  
He gagged as she refreshed her grip. "I dunno, I swear! But I have the address where we was s'pposed to report when we were done. You can go find out for yourself!"  
  
"Your life for the information, then," she hissed, eyes dark and almost frantic as they met Jowan's In that instant, he knew what she feared, and how badly.  
  
"Done. And we won't attack you no more," the leader promised, cautiously and gratefully fishing a slip of parchment free of a belt pouch. "Here."  
  
Leliana let him go and snatched the parchment away from him. "Go, quickly. And it we ever see you again, you are dead, no?"  
  
"Oh, you won't," he repeated, gesturing to his surviving men. "Come on, boys. We're getting out of here."  
  
As they limped off out of view. Marta turned to Leliana. "Who the blazes would want to kill you?!"  
  
"Marjolaine," Leliana replied wearily, unfolding the parchment and glancing over it. "This is in Denerim."  
  
"Leliana. Who's Marjolaine?" Marta pressed.  
  
"Someone from my past. I can give you more details, but shouldn't we head back to camp first? They're both bleeding, and the way you're holding your arm makes me think it should be seen to, no?"  
  
"Fine. But I _do_ want more details," Marta insisted. It was hard to argue with Alistair's head wound, or the blood slowly soaking Jowan's sleeve, but she was obviously curious. "Maybe you can talk as we walk?"  
  
"I... I can do that," Leliana nodded, looking resigned. "I might even finish before we get to camp."  
  
"It'll be a distraction from the pain," Alistair joked, clearly trying to lighten the mood.   
  
She smiled briefly. "I suppose it will." The version she shared as they walked was shorter and less detailed than what she'd told him; Marjolaine simply a former bard master and lover who framed her for treason. It was still enouugh  for Marta to suggest they head to Denerim to confront Marjolaine.  
  
<><><><>  
  
Leliana thought she might cry. Jowan's reaction to her past--game acceptance and showing he still cared--had been one thing. Marta offering to detour in exactly the opposite direction they needed to go... _What did I do to deserve this?_ "It... would probably be a good idea," she admitted. "Marjolaine was always... persistent. If we don't face her, she will simply keep sending more men after us."  
  
"Then off to Denerim we go." Marta rose, rolling her shoulder to alleviate residual stiffness from popping it back in joint. "After a good night's sleep, of course."  
  
"Oh, of course," Leliana agreed, dazed. Needing something else to focus on, she turned her attention to Jowan. The poor man was trying to bandage his own arm. It would have been enough of a chore were he able to do it with his good hand, having to do it with the stiffer left hand meant all he was accomplishing was worrying a pretty serious bit mark into his lower lip. "Let me help."  
  
"Gladly." He relinquished the clumsily rolled bandages with a sigh of relief. "Thank you."  
  
"I need the distraction," she shrugged, checking the wound to make sure it was cleaned before she began wrapping the bandages around his arm. "I seem to do this for you a lot."  
  
He blushed a little at the joke. "Sorry."  
  
"You don't need to apologize, Jowan," Leliana shook her head. "I don't mind."  
  
"Mm. You doing alright?"  
  
She focused intently on tying off the bandages. "Well as can be expected, knowing that soon I'll be facing off with someone I loved. Someone who betrayed me." She tried to smile, but could tell it didn't reach her eyes. "My stomach's in knots."  
  
As she dropped her hands, he rested his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. "You know we'll watch your back, right?"  
  
She nodded against his shoulder.  
  
"You know _I'll_ watch your back, right?"  
  
"Because that what friends are for, no?" she whispered.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
<><><><>  
  
The journey to Denerim was subdued. Wynne and Sten were less than happy to be going _the wrong way_ again, Zevran seemed to have doubts about the _face a master bard head on_ plan, but everyone kept their thoughts to themselves, and Jowan was even quieter than usual. Marta delegated Wynne as temporary leader while she helped Leliana with her problem. "Alistair, Jowan, you're with us. The rest of you, go with Wynne to find lodging. We'll probably wind up spending at least one night here."  
  
They went their separate ways, Leliana guiding their group off the slip of parchment. Finally, they stood outside the rickety door of the ambushers' contact. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders. And pushed the door open.  
  
The waiting and extremely hostile guards they had expected. That fight didn't last long, even with the close quarters hampering Leliana's use of her bow. But next came Marjolaine. Seeing her again--seeing her _free_ \--made Leliana's stomach twist with a combination of anger and fear even as the woman tried to talk circles around them. The redhead swallowed hard, one hand curling into a fist. Jowan saw and shifted his weight so his shoulder brushed hers. One side of her mouth twitched in a half-smile. She took a deep breath and spoke.  
  
"She cannot be trusted, Warden. She is too paranoid to stop."  
  
"Well, then." Marta smiled thinly. "I suppose there's only one course of action."  
  
Marjolaine matched the smile with one of her own. "Oh, my dear, sweet Leliana. I _made_ you. I can _unmake_ you just as easily!"  
  
They all spread out as Marjolaine signaled for the reinforcements waiting in the side rooms. Leliana's hands trembled slightly as she targeted one of the mages, but even so she dropped the man in one shot and moved her attention to one of the hulking qunari guards. She was vaguely aware of Marta yelling something as Alistair went straight for Marjolaine, but she was too focused on her own target to make out the words.  
  
Said target suddenly lost his balance as the floor turned to ice under his feet, and even as he stumbled, a jet of flame licked at his armor. Leliana finished him off with an arrow to the neck, but when she turned to thank Jowan, his attention was already elsewhere--specifically, helping Alistair take on Marjolaine.  
  
The bard master saw where Leliana's gaze had gone, smiled, and hollered an order at one of her remaining guards. The lanky elf nodded--and headed straight for Jowan. Marta caught him before he got halfway to the mage, however, and slowed him down enough for Jowan to dodge out of the way and take down the elf. One by one the guards fell, until they were all able to focus on Marjolaine.  
  
She was slippery, difficult to pin down, until Leliana got in a lucky shot to her knee. Thus hobbled, it was only a matter of time before they finished her off. Alistair got the honor of the killing blow, his sword sliding almost effortlessly into her chest. Even as Marjolaine let out a weak gasp and coughed up blood, he used his shield to push her off the blade. She collapsed in an undignified heap.  
  
Leliana just stood there for a minute, staring into the empty eyes of the woman she had loved, who had betrayed her, "She's dead." It came out just above a whisper as she felt tension drain from her shoulders. "She..." _You're free. Didn't that feel good?_ Her stomach turned as she realized yes, for part of her at least, that h _ad_ felt good. "I need a minute."  
  
The others were all looking at her in sympathy, making her wonder just how rattled she looked. But she just turned on her heel and walked out of the house, hands shaking, mumbling something about needing to be alone.  
  
<><><><>  
  
It took two hours for her to finally show up at the inn where they were staying. Not that he'd been keeping an eye out because he was worried or anything.  
  
"You... alright?" Jowan asked, startling the redhead as she leaned back against the door. "Sorry."  
  
Leliana shook her head, eyes closed, and sighed deeply. "I will be. She was... a big part of my life for so long, and with everything she did... it is a little overwhelming to think she is gone, no?"  
  
"I can understand that," he nodded. "You want help with your armor?"  
  
She smiled half-heartedly. "That would be lovely." Her bow and quiver she left in the front room of the suite, with Alistair's sword and shield, and Marta and Zevran's daggers. Jowan didn't say a word as he helped with the harder-to-reach buckles on her leathers. For 'simple' armor, there were a lot of them. Once they'd gotten the leathers off and she'd tugged at her shirt to straighten it, Leliana gave him a more genuine smile. "Thank you. For not pushing."  
  
Jowan shrugged. "We both have a lot on our minds. I figured letting us deal with that was better than trying to pretend everything's normal."  
  
Leliana scoffed. "What even _is_ normal?"  
  
He laughed shortly. "I ever figure that out, I'll let you know."  
  
"I'd appreciate it. And thank you for your help today."  
  
"You're welcome." _That's what friends are for._ Jowan rubbed the back of his neck, thought the better of the comment he was going to make, and substituted, "Hope you sleep well tonight."  
  
"Me, too," Leliana replied, a distant look in her eyes as he took his leave.  
  
<><><><>  
  
He was hiding something, she could tell. And she didn't need her bard skills to pick up on it, either. Jowan was just lousy at hiding his feelings. So Leliana waited until it was late enough the rest of the party had retired to their rooms and cornered the mage, dragging him out on the balcony that overlooked Denerim. "Out with it."  
  
"Out with what?" he dodged, staring at the skyline.  
  
"Out with why you won't meet my eye, with why you've been quieter than usual lately, why you keep rubbing that scar." She reached over and tugged his right hand away from the dark, ugly line across his left palm. " _Talk to me_ , Jowan."  
  
He sighed, looking miserable but meeting her gaze--if just barely. "I... What Marjolaine did to you, it's too similar."  
  
"To _what_?"  
  
"...Me." It came out small, almost mousy, and she nearly laughed at the absurdity.   
  
"Well, that's ridiculous," she shook her head.  
  
"Only because you don't know the full story of what I did," Jowan retorted, and then plunged abruptly into the _detailed_  version of how he wound up in the Redcliffe dungeons, summarizing, "I lied to someone who loved me, used her to accomplish something that benefited me, and left her to face the music while I _ran_. Seems pretty similar to me."  
  
Leliana was quiet for a long moment, her hands covering his so he wouldn't dig at the scar. _That explains a lot._ "Jowan... I just have one question, well, two really, but they tie together; do you regret it, and would you do something like that again?"   
  
"Only with every waking moment, and I'd die first."  
  
"Then you're nothing like Marjolaine," Leliana said simply, squeezing his hands. "She would do it a thousand times without remorse. There may be some surface similarities, but you have a great many good qualities she lacked, no? Starting with a conscience. If anything, I am more in danger of being like her than you."  
  
"Now _that's_ ridiculous," Jowan scoffed. "How are you _anything_ like her?"  
  
"I enjoyed it. When we killed her," she confessed.  
  
"That's just called human nature, Lel," he contradicted, freeing one hand from hers to rub her back. "She used you, betrayed you, left you to die, and then tried to kill you again. Relief and satisfaction that she's gone is _normal_. It doesn't make you a bad person. You're still one of the best people I know."  
  
"I could say the same about you," Leliana rejoined lightly.  
  
"Then you need to meet more people," Jowan deflected. "There's plenty better."  
  
She just raised an eyebrow skeptically, her free hand braced against the balcony railing behind him.  
  
Subconsciously, almost as if nudged by some outside force, they both rocked forward slightly, leaning close enough she could feel his breath on her cheek.  
  
 _What are you doing?!_ a voice screamed in her head. _He's your friend, you're still emotionally drained from today, this is a_ ** _bad idea_** _._  
  
Jowan must've had a similar voice in his head, because even as she pushed off the railing and back, he sidestepped, pulling his hand free of hers, both of them redder than her hair.  
  
"I should get to bed," Leliana mumbled, tucking her hair behind her ears and staring at the floor.  
  
"Me too," Jowan muttered. "G'night." And he vanished back inside at just shy of a run.  
  
Leliana waited a few seconds, one hand curled against her stomach. _Where did that come from?!_   
  
The more confusing, heart-twisting question didn't occur to her until she was in bed, listening to Wynne's quiet breathing from across the room.  
  
 _Why do I regret not going for it?_


	4. Deeper

 

They were two days out from Orzammar, nothing but rock and darkspawn far as the eye could see, when Jowan had an important--belated--realization. Somewhere between leaving the Circle and now, he had developed an _intense_ dislike of small spaces. Not quite claustrophobia, but close enough to be a problem. But he kept his mouth shut. None of them were particularly comfortable down here, if the Wardens' unease and Leliana's moodiness were any indication. Of course, there was another potential reason for the latter, but he would rather dwell on the miles' worth of rock over their heads than remember that night in Denerim.

  
"How much further is it?" Marta asked their newest companion, and the dwarf shrugged.  
  
"Few more hours, give or take, but there ain't anywhere better'n here to camp, and it's gettin' to be night in civilized places. We might wanna set camp sooner rather than later," Oghren advised, pulling out his flask to take a swig.   
  
"Sounds good. We're probably all ready for a break anyway..." Three murmurs of assent answered her, and Marta unslung her pack. "Alright then. We'll camp here and press on tomorrow."  
  
Not needing the tents meant setting camp took much less time than usual. Which meant it didn't serve as a distraction for nearly as long as he'd been hoping. He pulled out his sketchbook and tied to concentrate on the details of his most recent sketch, the figure dominating a whole precious page near the end of the book. But focusing on the minutia of his work didn't even do it, the closeness of the tunnel and the rock ceiling a constant niggling at the back of his mind. Afraid he was going to ruin a nearly-finished project in his agitated state, Jowan flipped the sketchbook closed and glanced around to see what the others were doing.  
  
Oghren was sharpening his axe, Marta and Alistair were deep in a friendly debate about dinner, and Leliana was apparently suffering from the same antsy creative block he was; her lute was in her lap, but her hand rested still against the strings as she stared at one of the half-blocked tunnels barely visible in the gloom. Jowan tucked his sketchbook away in his pack and crossed the campsite to sit next to her.  
  
"For what it's worth, I hate it down here, too," he said sympathetically.  
  
Leliana half-smiled briefly. "We can be miserable together, no?" She was quiet for a moment. "Marta said something once about Wardens being able to hear the darkspawn. Imagine how much worse this must be for her and Alistair..."  
  
"No, thanks," he muttered, running one hand through his hair. "It's bad enough as it is."  
  
She exhaled a short laugh. "I suppose it is."  
  
They were both quiet for a stretch, Jowan shifting to sit with his knees drawn up, arms resting atop his knees, as the two of them stared out into the tunnels.  
  
"I miss the stars," Leliana said abruptly. "If you count the time spent in Orzammar, it's been almost a week since we last saw them."  
  
Jowan nodded. "It has been awhile. And it feels even longer down here."  
  
"So what do you miss the most?" She set aside the lute, bracing her elbow against her knee to support her chin.  
  
He raised an eyebrow. "D'you really think this is a good conversation to be having right now? When we're probably going to be down here at least another _week_?"  
  
Leliana just shrugged. "Unless there's something else you wanted to talk about?" Her tone suggested the question was nowhere near as innocuous as it sounded.  
  
Jowan pulled his knees in a little closer to his chest. "Cool breezes. I miss cool breezes. It's all stuffy down here; hardly any moving air. Reminds me of the Circle."  
  
She raised an eyebrow. "An ancient tunnel full of darkspawn reminds you of the Circle?"  
  
"Just the lack of moving air part." He paused. "Though some of my teachers were scary enough to pass for darkspawn."  
  
Leliana giggled. "Sounds like there are some stories there, no?"  
  
"Nothing exciting," Jowan said, attention suddenly consumed by tracing one of the patch seams on the knee of his pants. "Mostly just instructors putting the fear of the Maker into young children so we would understand about not trusting demons. But there were a few later on who always seemed to know which students _hadn't_ studied, and _always_ called on them."  
  
"Must've been magic," she teased, fingers toying with the one small braid that decorated her hair.  
  
He made a face at her for the joke, but couldn't help a small chuckle. "Must've been."  
  
Marta hollered the food was ready then, cutting off their conversation. For not being able to cook--she hadn't wanted to risk a fire--she and Alistair had done a good job preparing dinner. After a satisfying meal and a planning conversation in regards to the following day, they settled in for the night, all hoping that keeping watch would prove an unnecessary precaution.  
  
<><><><>  
  
The night passed uneventfully, much to their collective relief. As did the next several. It reached the point of almost seeming _normal_ ; fighting darkspawn, traveling deeper and deeper in search of this Paragon who could somehow get them the help they needed, and the further they went, the more Jowan decided he hate close spaces.  
  
The Dead Trenches were the worst yet. Even with the cavern's relatively high ceiling and open feel, they were _miles_ underground. And that fact was _almost_ as nerve-wracking as the fact the archdemon was there--briefly, thank the Maker, but just a glimpse of the monstrous dragon was enough to insure none of them slept well that night. And the Trenches were thick with darkspawn, so the sleep would have been helpful. Even Alistair's perpetually optimistic outlook started to wear away as they fought their way through, and Jowan started praying they found who they were looking for soon.   
  
<><><><>  
  
An already-awful circumstance tipped over to nightmarish when they found Hespith. The story of what Branka had done to her House, the hints of what happened to the Laryn woman Hespith mentioned, turned Leliana's stomach. That this level of depravity was possible... It was abhorrent. The dwarven woman cracked under even Marta's gentle questioning and ran off deeper into the tunnels.  
  
 _No. No deeper. I miss the sun and the stars and the sky. Please don't make this take any longer to get back to the surface._ But she kept her complaints to herself, even as a glance showed Jowan, at least, shared them. And they went deeper, fighting past a pair of raging ogres and the Stone-Memories(ghosts, really) of dead dwarven warriors. Bit by bit, Hespith's voice, coming from who-knew-where, shared details of watching her friends die, of seeing Laryn begin to transform into something horrible. The rising sense of dread was palpable. All five of them had weapons drawn and ready as they advanced down the tunnel, Marta and Alistair both with jaws tight, fighting the darkspawn presence.  
  
And then the narrow passage opened into a larger cavern, which would have been a relief were it not for what awaited them--an angry, screeching broodmother. Every single one of them swore, even Marta. But the noble's lost composure returned quickly, and she issued orders with a level of calm and poise more suited to a diplomatic tea that fighting something out of a nightmare in the bowels of the earth. Leliana had never been so grateful she was a ranged fighter before in her life.  
  
She and Jowan hung toward the far end of the cave, sending arrows and hexes and spells toward the shrieking monstrosity as Alistair and Oghren attacked it head-on and Marta skulked in the shadows looking for opening. It was going pretty well, too--apparently the Maker _could_ hear her down here--until one of the broodmother's tentacles got lucky and caught Marta. Their leader let out a surprised yelp as the tentacle curled around her leg and yanked her off-balance. That, of course, distracted Alistair from his combination attack/guard duty, and as he wheeled to check on her, several darkspawn charged past, summoned by the broodmother. With Alistair's attention divided, the assorted darkspawn made it far enough Leliana and Jowan had to break off from attacking the broodmother to defend themselves. Fortunately, whatever awkwardness lingered between them regarding the Denerim Incident did _not_ extend to combat. They still worked like they'd been fighting side by side for _years_ instead of just a few months. Three genlocks and a hurlock fell in a flurry of arrows and magic, and the shriek only got away because it vanished into the murk just as she drew a bead on it. Instinctively, the two of them backed up until their shoulders touched and started scanning for the elusive darkspawn.  
  
"I don't see it," Jowan hissed, grip tightening on his staff.  
  
"I know," she retorted, gaze traveling over where Marta was getting to her feet, skimming the rock walls, probing the visible nooks and crannies.  
  
"Leliana, we need to _find it_."  
  
" _I know_ ," she snapped, fear sharpening the words.  
  
Alert as they were, neither was expecting it to come charging from the tunnel instead of the cavern. The shriek hit them hard enough to send them both flying. Leliana's head banged against the rock wall, sending spots and lights flashing behind her eyelids, but she managed to keep hold of her bow _and_ the arrow she was about to nock.  
  
It didn't do her much good. By the time she'd spun to locate the shriek, it was close enough she rushed her shot and missed. And then the darkspawn was too close and she wasn't ready and where was her quiver-  
  
" _Jowan!!_ " She didn't know why she'd said that. He was probably in trouble, too; she had no idea if he was in a position to help, but his name slipped past her lips like it was instinct.  
  
And the shriek froze inches from her face. Leliana stared at the paralyzed darkspawn, breathing hard, her hands braced against the tunnel floor. _That was too close_.  
  
" _ **Move** ,_ Lel!" Jowan barked, and she came to her senses. She rolled away from the darkspawn, grabbing her quiver and bow as she went.  
  
"Thank y-" The words caught in her throat as she turned.  
  
The shriek wasn't paralyzed. At least, not by a conventional paralysis spell. Blood dripped from Jowan's fingers as he leaned against the tunnel wall with his hand outstretched toward the darkspawn. When he saw she was safely out of the way, he curled his hand into a fist. The shriek hunched in on itself with a yowl before crumpling to the ground and laying still.  
  
 _Oh, merde,_ was all Leliana could think as she met his eyes, swimming with so much raw emotion and self-loathing it almost hurt to see. "You..."  
  
The thought trailed off as Oghren let out a yell of triumph, his axe buried so deep in the broodmother's skull he had to lever it out.  
  
"Are you alright?" Jowan demanded. "It... It didn't get you, did it?!"  
  
Leliana focused on calming her breathing as he pushed away from the wall and approached her. "No, no, I'm fine, I promise." _He... that was..._   
  
"You're _bleeding_ ," he pointed out, and she raised a hand to her forehead.  
  
"So are you," she retorted even as her fingers came away red. "I just hit my head. It looks worse than it is. What about you?"  
  
Almost reluctantly, he held out his arm so she could see the fresh slash across the edge of his wrist. "It's nothing."  
  
"Nothing, he says," Leliana huffed, pulling out bandages. "Hold still."  
  
"Only if you let me take care of this," Jowan said, running his fingers lightly over the cut on her forehead.  
  
"How?" Raising an eyebrow hurt, but she did it anyway.  
  
"Wynne gave me some more lessons," He replied. "After... After the Proving."  
  
Leliana nodded. "Alright, then. I suppose if you have to practice on someone, I'm the best choice, no?" They found a relatively clean rock big enough for both of them and sat. "So..." she began hesitantly, after a pregnant and awkward silence as Jowan's fingers ran gingerly over her forehead, healing the shallow gash. "Was that...?"  
  
"Yes." It came out in a whisper, barely loud enough to be heard, as he stared at his hands. "But I used my blood, I swear. I would never-"  
  
"I thought you hated blood magic," Leliana sniped, not liking the hurt, accusatory note in her voice, as she brusquely bandaged his arm.  
  
"I _do_!" Jowan protested. "I hate it, and I hate what I did to myself and other people because of it, and I desperately hoped I would never use it again-"  
  
"Then why did you?!" she demanded, raking her hair back in exasperation.  
  
"Because I hate the thought of losing you more!" he burst out, face flaming red as soon as the words were said. "I mean... You- You're a good person, Leliana, and you're trying to help people, and I would hate to see that end because of a damned _darkspawn_. Especially with what they do to women."  
  
Leliana shuddered, silently concurring with the last part. "Well... thank you. But this is our life for now, Jowan; fighting. And fighting _darkspawn_. I don't want you doing something that makes you hate yourself just because I'm in danger."  
  
"I know." His eyes were remorseful as he met her gaze. "I was... I panicked."  
  
She smiled at him, ignoring the little voice nagging about That Night in Denerim. She wasn't going to bring that up, not here. "Just promise you won't lose yourself trying to save me."  
  
Jowan nodded. "I promise." For the briefest flicker of a moment, there was _something_ in his eyes, but then he stood abruptly. "Looks like they're waiting for us."  
  
"Right. Let's go." Leliana stood as well, chastising herself for entertaining thoughts _Like That_ again. They rejoined the others, Alistair's knowing look ensuring archer and mage kept their hands conspicuously to themselves as they pressed on.  
  
<><><><>  
  
All told, it took another two weeks of smotheringly close tunnels, several close calls, one dead Paragon, and one equally dead would-be king before they emerged from Orzammar. But Marta held Harrowmont's written promise of troops, and the stars were showing, and they were _out_.  
  
"I suppose the next stop is letting Arl Eamon know we're finally ready, no?" Leliana murmured as she looked up at the stars.  
  
"I suppose," Jowan shrugged, not wanting to dwell on going back there, facing those demons.  
  
"Stop worrying about that," she admonished. "Cross the bridges as they come and don't borrow trouble."  
  
"Easier said then done," he smiled wryly. "But I'll try." And he meant it. 

He owed her that much. 


	5. According to Plan

Things moved swiftly after they reached Redcliffe. Or swiftly as they were able given the number of steps they had to complete to make things happen; meet with Arl Eamon, determine a plan, feel out the nobles to see who agreed with them(or could be swayed thus).  
  
The list was daunting even before Queen Anora's handmaiden showed up with the news Arl Howe was holding the queen prisoner on his Denerim estate. Leliana wanted to groan at yet another step on the list, but Marta seemed more than willing to play the hero. Which was to be expected, especially given the fact it increased her odds of facing the man who killed her family. Leliana couldn't fault her for that, and from the sound of things the man needed to die anyway, but she knew how easy a fall into vengeance was--or could be.

So she pulled Alistair aside as they made their way to Howe's Denerim estate. "You need to watch out for her."  
  
"You think I don't already? Someone's been distracted by a pair of baby blues," he said jokingly.  
  
Leliana rolled her eyes but ignored the teasing. It wasn't worth giving him the _we're just friends_ speech now. "I'm serious, Alistair. I know how good it can feel to kill the person who betrayed you and ruined your life. It is a slippery slope, no?"  
  
Alistair shrugged. "You seem to have managed alright."  
  
"I had help." She slanted a glance toward the mage. "And I know you care about Marta like he does about me. So just... be there for her. Make sure she doesn't do anything she'll regret."  
  
<><><><>  
  
Nothing went according to plan. The way into the estate was simple enough, but the room where Queen Anora was trapped also had a magical barrier over the door. The mage who cast it was powerful than him, and Jowan couldn't do anything to dispel it. So it was into the dungeons they went, in search of Howe and the mage. Along the way, Marta insisted on freeing everyone they found alive--including, fortuitously enough, a Senior Grey Warden named Riordan, who thanked them and promised to meet them back at Arl Eamon's estate before he left.  
  
By the time they actually _found_ the arl and his mage, they had seen enough depravity to get all four of them furious at the man. He did--or allowed--things that made what Isolde's guards had done to Jowan look like child's play, and for far slighter offenses.  Howe was spiteful to  the end, spitting curses and taunts at Marta throughout their fight, until she rammed a dagger into his gut with such force she actually lifted him up on his toes before slashing his throat with her other blade. He crumpled to the floor, his weight snapping off the dagger in his gut. Marta didn't seem to notice as she stood over his corpse, breathing hard.  
  
Leliana caught Jowan's eye and motioned to help her search the other bodies for anything valuable. He joined her as Alistair stepped to Marta's side, and they gave the two as much privacy as they could until Marta had regained her composure.  
  
When they headed back up to free the queen, Marta had replaced her broken dagger with Howe's axe, carrying the weapon like a trophy. The magic barrier over Queen Anora's door was gone, and Howe had been carrying the key, but they hit another snag: somehow, Loghain had gotten wind they were here, because his guard captain and several knights were waiting for them.  
  
By now Jowan knew Marta well enough it didn't really surprise him when she didn't argue or fight, but instead surrendered. "Get Anora to Eamon," she hissed under her breath as the guards approached to arrest her and Alistair. He nodded understanding, and even as the Grey Wardens were 'escorted' to prison, he and Leliana practically bolted across the market place with the queen in tow.  
  
<><><><>  
  
Rescuing their leader and Alistair was a challenge in and of itself. Fort Drakon proved hard to infiltrate, harder still to navigate, and damned near impossible to escape. But they succeeded. And they succeeded because Jowan let her do all the talking on the way in. In fact... Leliana frowned as they returned to Eamon's estate, roughed-up but alive Grey Wardens in tow, Jowan hadn't said a _word_ the entire time they were skulking through the prison.  
  
 _I'll have to talk to him about that, see if something's wrong,_ she resolved.  
  
But fate must've been against the idea, because no sooner had they returned and gotten Marta and Alistair patched up then they were running off to the elven Alienage, thanks to a vague tip from Anora about _'unrest'_. _'Unrest_ ' turned out to equal _'Tevinter slavers kidnapping elves with Loghain's blessing'_. After Marta stripped the incriminating documents off the lead slaver's body as proof, she turned to the others and smiled grimly. "I'd say we have enough now, wouldn't you?"  
  
Leliana had to agree. Between those documents and the people they'd found in Howe's dungeon, they had plenty to call a Landsmeet and condemn the teyrn's actions. And then, hopefully, Ferelden would unite against the Blight. And after the Blight was stopped, they could take a breath, relax. Have conversations that needed to be had.  
  
<><><><>  
  
Marta must have noticed something was off, because she pulled Leliana aside just prior to leaving for the palace. "Are you alright? It seems like something has been bothering you recently."  
  
"I'm fine," Leliana demurred. "Just... between Branka, and Howe, and the Alienage... That the Maker's creatures are capable of such awful things, it is a bit unsettling, no?"  
  
"Is that _all_ that's bothering you?" the Warden pressed. "It's seemed like things are... out of sync between you and Jowan since the last time we were here."  
  
"Oh, _non_ , everything's fine. We're just worried about stopping the Blight, and it's making us quieter than usual," she fibbed hastily. _We **really** need to talk_.   
  
Marta only looked half-convinced, but shrugged and dropped it. She did, after all, have more important things to worry about.  
  
<><><><>  
  
The Landsmeet went about as well as it possibly could. Nobles that they had helped, with rescued sons or brothers, combined with Marta's incredible gift for public speaking, won them the day. And Alistair's skill as a warrior won _him_ the crown.  
  
They were, of course, given little time to celebrate, because Arl Eamon wanted to talk strategy and Riordan wanted to discuss Grey Warden matters, and they were going to need to move out soon. Seeing as the Blight was a Grey Warden issue above all else, it seemed only fitting  they spoke to Riordan first. Jowan was more than a little surprised when Marta motioned for him to join them; he'd figured as just a conscript, he wouldn't matter. When he said something to that effect in the Senior Warden's hearing, Riordan's brow furrowed. "Follow me, all of you."  
  
They did, and he led the way to a warehouse off the marketplace, with a secret cache of Grey Warden weapons, armor, and paraphernalia. Riordan obviously knew exactly what he was looking for; crossing immediately to a small cabinet, its insides frosty from an ice rune, and pulled out a large vial. "We need all the Grey Wardens possible, especially now."  
  
Jowan was officially lost. but Marta and Alistair both stiffened. "Riordan..."  
  
"There are compelling reasons to have as many of us as possible, only the least of which is no longer worrying about the Taint," Riordan said calmly.  
  
"It could _kill him_!" Marta retorted, fingers drumming the hilt of her dagger. "And then _I'll_ be down a mage, and we won't have _gained_ anything!"  
  
"If he is a conscript, friend, it will happen sooner or later," Riordan answered.  
  
"He has a point, Mar," Alistair shrugged. "And a pretty good one at that."   
  
Jowan cleared his throat. "If it has to happen sooner or later, I'd rather just get it over with."  
  
"Good man," Riordan nodded approvingly as he poured the contents of the vial into a chalice.   
  
_Far from it, really_. The thought was more automatic reaction than something he really _believed_ , which was progress. He took the chalice, the metal cool in his grasp. "If this _does_ happen to kill me, tell Leliana... she can have my sketchbook." Hopefully that would convey what he couldn't put into words.  
  
Marta nodded. "Of course."  
  
Her hand sought Alistair's for comfort as they said the words of whatever oath went with this ritual. And Jowan drank.  
  
<><><><>  
  
The pain and the nightmarish visions were both vivid and intense, but mercifully brief. As his eyes flickered open, Marta smiled in relief and Alistair offered him a hand up.  
  
"That tastes _terrible_ ," Jowan commented as he accepted the help.  
  
"Yes, well, don't ask what's in it, then," Alistair said wryly, clapping him on the back. "And welcome to the ranks."  
  
"Thank you?" The splitting headache and bad taste in his mouth made him less than sure he meant it, but nice was a definite step up from distant, so he'd take it.  
  
"Well, while we're here," Marta began, "what do you say you and I check to see if any of this armor is better than what we already have?"  
  
By the time they left, Marta and Jowan sported the silver and blue of the Wardens, and Alistair had picked out a new shield emblazoned with the crest.  
  
"I may be king, but I'm still a Grey Warden, too," he defended when Marta pointed out maybe he should be showing the people he aligned with Ferelden more. "Besides, this armor looks similar to Cailan's."  
  
Jowan rolled his eyes but smiled at the playful banter as they made their way back. It was good to know there was levity to balance out the darker side of their calling.  
  
Doubly so when the nightmares woke him screaming.  
  
<><><><>  
  
If she were a betting woman, Leliana would have laid money that Jowan didn't get more than a couple hours' worth of sleep a night the whole way to Redcliffe, where the bulk of the darkspawn horde seemed to be heading.  
  
"I'm just adjusting," he brushed her off when she said something.  
  
"To _what_?!" she demanded. _What happened on that little 'Wardens only' field trip?_   
  
"Actually being a Grey Warden," was his cagey reply.   
  
She huffed in annoyance at his stonewalling and didn't speak to him the remaining days to Redcliffe. Petty, yes possibly--probably--she admitted to herself, but she hated feeling like someone she cared about was keeping secrets _again_.   
  
Jowan must have picked up on that, despite the sleep deprivation, because he did apologize as they approached the outskirts of the village. "I know it's hard, and I wish I could tell you more... _everything,_ really. But there are some things Grey Wardens are sworn to secrecy. Hard as it may be, I just need you trust me, okay?"  
  
She was quiet for a long moment, long enough, she could feel him getting nervous, before she half-smiled and nodded. "That's what friends are for, no?"  
  
He seemed to wilt a little in relief as he replied, "That and watching your back."  
  
<><><><>  
  
It proved to be a very good thing they got over their little spat, as the darkspawn had beaten them to Redcliffe. Fighting both the monsters and their noise in his head was exhausting and Leliana wound up saving his neck multiple times before things were safe enough for them to make their way to the castle. Where they had to fight even _more_ darkspawn and Alistair nearly got crushed by an ogre because Jowan was distracted by a hurlock trying skewer Leliana. _At least it can't get any worse,_ Jowan thought as they mounted the steps.  
  
But he was wrong. The news waiting for them was definitely worse: the horde was actually heading for Denerim--along with the archdemon. Even with a forced march, it would take a week to reach the capital. And then Riordan asked to speak privately with the other Wardens before they turned in for the night.  
  
"Was it ever explained to any of you _why_ Grey Warden are necessary to end the Blight?" he asked, once they were alone and the door was closed.  
  
"I figured it had something to do with the Taint," Marta replied and Alistair and Jowan shook their heads.  
  
"That is it exactly," Riordan nodded gravely, before explaining what that something was; the archdemon's essence was drawn to the Taint, and if killed by anyone other than a Grey Warden, it would simply move to the nearest darkspawn and begin again. But if a Grey Warden struck the killing blow, the archdemon's soul would instead attempt to move to _their_ body. "However, a Grey Warden is not soulless, like darkspawn. The resulting conflict will destroy both the archdemon and the Grey Warden."  
  
"So... whoever kills it _dies_?" Alistair asked incredulously.  
  
Riordan nodded again. "As the eldest and longest-serving of us, I will take responsibility for the killing blow, if possible. However, if that is _not_ possible, one of you must be ready."  
  
 _That would be one way to make up for what I've done..._ Looking around at the others, Jowan could see it in their eyes; they were all three willing. And with that somber realization they all went their separate ways. Marta went to her room, and Alistair to his.  
  
But Jowan headed straight for Leliana's.  
  
<><><><>  
  
Leliana was in the middle of picking out a tune on her lute, trying to calm her ragged and jangling nerves, when Jowan walked in, not even pausing to knock on the half-open door. He looked like he'd aged several years in the half-hour since she last saw him.  
  
"What's wrong?" she asked, setting aside her lute and standing.  
  
"There's a really good chance we could die when we get to Denerim," he said softly, hands nervously tangling together as he took another step into the room. "But the odds are... are higher for us Grey Wardens, and if I'm going to die..."  
  
She raised an eyebrow when he let the words trail off. "What?"  
  
He crossed the rest of the room in two steps and kissed her. Leliana had just gotten over the surprise and started to _enjoy_ it when he pulled back just far enough to breathe.   
  
"If I'm going to die I wanted to do that at least once," he finished quietly, hand resting tentatively on her shoulder. For a second, he looked like he was going to say more, but then abruptly stepped back and left. But not before Leliana saw how red his face had gone.  
  
 _Alright,_ she decided, fingers brushing her lips as she stared at the empty doorway. _We **definitely** need to talk._


	6. Long Overdue

 

Despite her fervent desire to sit down and have a _long_ heart to heart with a certain mage, Leliana didn't get a chance the whole journey to Denerim. Between the grim atmosphere, the speed with which they travel, and various untimely interruptions, they'd made it all the way back to the Fereldan capital before she got a chance to say two words to Jowan.  
  
"We need to talk." Nothing had ever felt more like a blatant statement of the obvious.  
  
Jowan sighed. "I know." He raked one hand through his hair. "Just... after." He nodded toward the burning city. "Let's make sure we both survive, and then we can have as long a conversation as you want."  
  
Leliana took a deep breath, and smiled as she reached over to give his hand a comforting squeeze. "Deal."

<><><><>  
  
The darkspawn hordes did _not_ make that an easy deal to keep. Fortunately he'd gotten really good at ducking, and whoever designed  the Grey Warden armor understood how to _protect_ a mage without overburdening them. Jowan dodged another axe swing and petrified the hurlock responsible with a wave of his hand. He yelped and ducked again as another hurlock appeared, swinging wildly, and let the brute's momentum shatter its own comrade.  
  
And so it went. As they fought for the square, the Alienage, the market, Fort Drakon itself. Every battle was a flurry of dodging, spells, and prayers for enough rest he didn't exhaust himself entirely before they faced the archdemon(assuming Riordan's plan even worked). Regardless, he was beginning to feel it by the time they stood outside Drakon's gates. Marta was also looking slightly winded, and Leliana had already been forced to refill her quiver with arrows scrounged off dead archers at least twice now. _We can do this_ , he told himself, but that got a little harder to believe when they found Riordan's body in the prison courtyard.  
  
<><><><>  
  
Progress through Fort Drakon itself felt measurable in inches for how long each advancement took. But finally they emerged onto the roof.  
  
"Well, this is one way to feel tiny," Alistair remarked glibly as they stared at the wounded and raging archdemon.  
  
"And we have to kill it," Marta snarked back. "Let's get on that shall we?"  
  
There was something significant about the looks she gave Alistair and Jowan that made Leliana feel profoundly left out. But she shook off the sensation and charged in with the others, determined to do her part--even if she wasn't a Grey Warden. And, as it turned out, her focusing on crowd control--picking off the darkspawn that filtered up to the roof--allowed the Wardens to concentrate on the dragon. They did their work well, and it was obvious the archdemon knew it was in dire straits. The bellow it unleashed rattled the stones, and a fresh flood of darkspawn poured onto the roof. Even with the help of the dwarven warriors who had joined them, there were just too many. Leliana was just a little rushed, her aim just a little off in her haste.  
  
And the genlock she'd been targeting swung true, its serrated blade gouging deep into her side.  
  
<><><><>    
  
Jowan heard her cry out and instinctively swiveled in her direction. Leliana was clutching her side, her face white, as a genlock hauled back its bloody sword for another swing.

It didn't get the chance; he made sure of that. In fact his aim was good enough--or lucky enough--the stonefist he cast had probably made pulp of the thing's skull.

Leliana looked his way, her grateful smile morphing into fear as she did. "Watch out!"

He spun to see a shriek lunging at Marta's unprotected back. Even as he raised his hand and froze it mid-leap, another one appeared out of nowhere and knocked him to the ground, its bladed fist sinking into his shoulder up to the knuckles.

 _At least it's the left one,_ was all he could think as his free arm instinctively came up to protect his face. Lightning coursed from his fingers, followed by fire, as he fought his way free. The shriek's twitching corpse tumbled off him, the blade doing yet more damage on the way out of his shoulder.

Marta appeared and offered him a hand up-"Thanks"-even as she turned to holler at Alistair, "Go, _**now**_!”

The warrior nodded and charged toward the archdemon, roaring a battle cry.

Jowan frowned, blinking away spots. "Wait, won't he-"

"Just wait," Marta cut him off, jaw tense as she watched.

The archdemon lowered its head to belch fire at the charging Warden, but Alistair dodged to the side and dragged his blade down its neck as he ran. The star-metal blade cut easily through even dragon scales, and the archdemon fell. With a last ringing cry, Alistair spun the blade to be point down and drove it into the dragon's skull.

The result could only be called a delayed explosion, a few seconds passing before a brilliant purple-lit shockwave flared out from the dead dragon and knocked everyone on the roof  off their feet. Jowan, of course, landed hard on his bad shoulder and couldn't stop the groaned curse as he rolled over to get back to his feet. Marta stood as well, hand resting on his shoulder in a silent check that he was--mostly--alright.

Which he was, but- "I'm going to need you two t' explain _that_ to me," he mumbled, good hand pointing shakily to where Alistair was getting to _his_ feet, still very much alive. "But later," he amended, "first I need to talk to Leli..." He didn’t see her. "...ana..." Why couldn't he see her; she'd been _right there_. He started toward where he'd last seen her, gait slightly unsteady as his shoulder began to throb. "Leliana?!"

Dazed mutterings in Orlesian answered him as she clumsily made it to her knees. "J-Jowan..."

And Jowan's heart lodged in his throat as he hurried across the remaining distance between them. Without her hand in the way, he could see the full extent of the gash in her side. "No, no, no, no..."

He hastily---roughly--knelt next to her, left hand managing to curve against her jaw as his right pressed against the wound.

"It's not... that bad," she mumbled, even as her head lolled and her skin went clammy under his touch.

"And I'm next in line for the Sunburst Throne," Jowan snarked to cover his rising dread as he poured all his remaining energy, every last bit of mana he had left, into healing the wound. (Healing had never been a strong suit of his) _I can't lose you, not now_. His heart rate began to slow as her breathing even out. "Don't ever do that again. Getting grievously injured is my thing, remember?"

Leliana laughed giddily, resting her forehead against his shoulder--the good one, fortunately--as her color started to return. "Maybe I figured it was my turn, no?"

He tipped her chin up so she'd meet his eyes. "Well, I hereby absolve you of having to take a turn ever again. " He pressed a kiss to her forehead, heedless of the grime. "I don't... I can't lose you, Lel. _Ever_."

She grinned and threw her arms around his neck in a gloriously tight hug, whispering "Same," as she kissed him on the cheek.

<><><><>

Getting down from Fort Drakon's tower proved almost as arduous as getting _up_ it had, given the state the two of them were in. But they were still alive, and that was a feat in and of itself.

"You should let someone take care of that shoulder," Leliana said, grimacing slightly as Jowan helped her around the last of the debris between them and the palace gates.

He blushed a little and cleared his throat. "I was figuring we could patch each other up while we had that talk."

"Ah." She pretended to mull it over as they followed the others inside the palace. "I like this plan quite a lot."

"I thought you might," Jowan replied with a boyish grin, squeezing her hand.

<><><><>

And so they did; after getting themselves the necessary supplies and locking the door. Both of them eased out of armor that had begun to stick, and then Jowan very gingerly pulled off his shirt and Leliana rolled her up and tucked it under he breastband.

"So," she began, wringing out a towel to start cleaning off his shoulder, "where do we start?"

"With me apologizing for kissing you out of the blue," Jowan said hesitantly, his fingers tracing lightly over the pink skin of where her wound _had_ been. _I did better than I thought_. He sucked in a sharp breath as the water dripped over the hole through his shoulder.

"It was hardly out of the blue," Leliana protested, carefully cleaning the wound before she began stitching it closed. "Not with what almost happened after we killed Marjolaine."

"Good point," he admitted. "And I don't think I can do much more for your side, actually. You might ask Wynne to double-check it, but I think it's healed."

"Mm." She tugged her shirt free, letting the material fall to drape over her midriff again. "What you said on Fort Drakon, about not wanting to lose me... you _meant_ that."

"It was _can't_ lose you, and with all my heart." He paused, bit his lip. "You're the first person to make me feel... good enough. Like my mistakes aren't all that define me, and you're kind and thoughtful and sweet and you want to _help_... Are you really surprised that I'm falling in love with you?"

The words slipped out _far_ more easily than Jowan had anticipated, and he heard Leliana's breath catch, her hands pausing briefly as she moved to stitch the back part of his shoulder wound, before, cautiously, "You... you love me?"

He winced, and not just from the sensation of the needle and thread tugging at his skin. "Yes. But if you don't feel the same way, say the word and I'll vanish to the opposite end of Thedas if you want." That really was much more likely; she'd noticed his growing feelings--he was _lousy_ at hiding them--and was trying to let him down as gently as possible. That was when he noticed she was giggling as she finished the stitches. "What?"

Leliana sighed as she cut off the thread and circled back in front of him. "Jowan, you wonderful idiot, I said ' _Same'_ up there for a _reason_. The last thing I want  you to do is _go away_. That would make it ever so much harder to do this."

And with that, she leaned forward, braced one hand against the arm of his chair, and kissed _him_.

"Oh," was all Jowan could say when she pulled away for breath.

"Have I made myself clear?" Leliana whispered mischievously, combing her fingers through his hair.

"Uh-huh,"he mumbled, head still spinning as he leaned forward to kiss her back.

  
"Just to make sure," she said when they parted for air, "I love you, too. But I should probably finish with your shoulder before we forget ourselves, no?"

It was a good point, and Jowan reluctantly nodded assent. But neither of them stopped smiling like idiots for the duration of the evening.

Even when met with Marta and Alistair's knowing looks. 


	7. At Long Last

"You need a haircut."  
  
Jowan grinned at the gently scolding tone of the comment. "What if I'm aiming for a ponytail?"  
  
Leliana's hands smoothed over his shoulders, silent as she considered. "I think that would look dashing."  
  
"Dashing?" he parroted, turning to face her with one eyebrow raised.  
  
She giggled at his skepticism. "Like a hero from the legends, no? Unless... are you just teasing me?"  
  
"Now, _why_ would I do something like that?" He wrapped his good arm around her waist and pulled her closer, kissing the tip of her nose.

"I feel like I should be asking _you_ that," she retorted, arms settling around his neck as she leaned in to steal a real kiss.  
  
"Because it's _fun_ ," he whispered. "And I think we're due a little of that. But if you actually _like_ the idea of me with a ponytail..."  
  
Leliana nodded, resting her forehead against his. "It doesn't have to be a _long_ one, but I do think I'd like that. You're more than halfway there already."  
  
Jowan wrinkled his nose at the teasing note in her voice. "You are, as usual, right."  
  
"Do you know what else I am right about?" she asked mischievously.  
  
"What?"  
  
"We're going to be late."  
  
"And?"  
  
She sighed in mock exasperation. "Well, I think Alistair would appreciate it if we were on _time_ for his coronation, no? Also, tardiness in regards to state functions is considered very rude."  
  
"Once again, I find myself unable to argue with your logic," Jowan corrected with a sigh of his own as he reluctantly let her go.  
  
"Cheer up, _cheri_ ," Leliana giggled, giving him a final peck on the cheek as she stepped away. "There will be plenty of time later just for us, no?"  
  
<><><><>  
  
_Plenty_ may have been the wrong word, she was forced to admit, as the coronation stretched into its second hour. The Grand Cleric _did_ love to talk. Next to her, Jowan fidgeted slightly, running a finger under the fabric of the sling Wynne had insisted her use while his shoulder healed. _Get some of the weight off the muscles_ , she had explained. The trade-off was it chafed the back of his neck and drove him crazy.  
  
Leliana reached over and captured his hand in hers, shooting the mage a _Fiddling will only make it worse_ look as she intertwined he fingers with his.  
  
Jowan met her look with one of gratitude, and squeezed her hand as they tried to stay focused.  
  
<><><><>  
  
When they _finally_ managed to escape the celebrity aftermath of Alistair's coronation, Jowan was in a much more solemn mood. He'd gotten Marta alone for just a few minutes; long enough for a hasty, basic answer to _how_ Alistair had killed the archdemon and survived. Of all the explanations he'd thought he might hear, _blood magic sex ritual with Morrigan_ wasn't even on the list.  
  
Marta had chuckled wryly as she nudged his jaw closed with one finger. "People will stare." She further explained they hadn't said anything to him because "we figured you wouldn't want to do that to Leliana."  
  
"We weren't a couple," he protested.  
  
"Maybe not _yet_ ," had been the noblewoman's reply, paired with a parting grin. "But you could have fooled us." and she'd excused herself to go talk to her brother, leaving Jowan absolutely speechless.  
  
"You alright, love?" Leliana asked, pulling him back to the moment.  
  
"Hm? Fine," Jowan promised. "Just got  lost in thought."  
  
"I hear that can be dangerous," she said teasingly.  
  
"Oh, very," he deadpanned, looping his arm around her neck and pulling her in to kiss the top of her head. "I should probably stop. Especially when the company is so good."  
  
"Flatterer," Leliana blushed even as she rolled her eyes.  
  
"Nope. Just honest." He released her and headed for his pack. "In fact, I have something to give you..."  
  
Her eyes lit up when he pulled out his sketchbook. "What?"  
  
"Here." Jowan carefully tugged the page free, hand shaking ever so slightly with nerves.  
  
Leliana took the sheet of parchment eagerly. And nearly dropped it--along with her jaw--to the floor as it registered what she held. "This... you... how long did this _take_ you?!"  
  
Jowan shrugged. "I've been working on it a little bit at a time since Marta conscripted me. I wanted to make sure I got it right."  
  
She looked at him skeptically. "I am _not_ that pretty."  
  
"First impressions are a powerful thing," he said simply, pressing a kiss to her temple. "And I draw what sticks with me."  
  
Leliana shook her head and resumed staring at the sketch. "I just can't believe..." He watched her eyes trace the lines, the details of the armor, the curve of her bow, her hair cooperating better on paper than it ever had in real life. "Thank you!" Her arms circled his shoulders, carefully; mindful of both his injury and her gift, and she gave him a long, lingering kiss. "I love it! And you."  
  
He smiled shyly and kissed her back. "I love you, too."  
  
<><><><>  
  
The parchment crinkled as she held it in her hands, the edges flaking slightly with age. Leliana sighed and lightly ran a fretful hand over the creases, trying in vain to smooth it out, before taking another sip of her wine. _"I don't know how you do it,"_ Justinia had said once, after she had summoned Leliana to be her Left Hand, _"find the strength to be who you must."_ There were times Leliana would admit she didn't know either. Today was one of them, as the loneliness squeezed her heart with an ache she couldn't describe.  
  
The door creaked open behind her, and Leliana's brow creased in irritation.  
  
"I said I wasn't to be disturbed," she groused, setting her goblet down hard. "Not even if Divine Victoria or the Inquisitor herself need me-"  
  
"Surely you're willing to make _some_ exceptions," a familiar--and dreadfully missed--voice commented close behind her. "After all, that's what friends are for, isn't it?"  
  
Leliana's face split with the widest grin she'd worn in... well, since the last time they were together, as she pushed out of the chair with enough force she nearly knocked it over. She wheeled and lunged for a hug, her arms going around his neck heedless of armor, of the ponytail pinned between the crook of her elbow and the back of his neck, of grime, of _everything_.  
  
The breath of Jowan's chuckle whisked across her cheek, and she heard his staff drop with a clatter as he wrapped his arms around her waist. "Oh, Maker's _breath_ , I missed you, Lel."  
  
"I missed you more." Her words were muffled against the side of his neck before she pulled him into a kiss. "Where were you? I was worried sick, all through the mess with the Wardens. How did you avoid that?!"  
  
He smiled and tweaked a lock of hair falling in her eyes. "Marta had me go with her and Nathaniel to search for a cure. I guess she figured since the Taint is in the blood, I might be able to help in a way no one else would."  
  
"And?" Leliana prompted, her hands sliding to rest on his chest. "Did you?"  
  
"Did what, I know something, or we find a cure for the Calling?" Jowan's eyes glinted mischievously, clearly aware of how much she'd missed him.  
  
"Both. Either. You're safe, so I don't really care about the details," she admitted. For so long they'd been answering to separate masters, passing like ships in the night, stealing moments when they could and writing letters when they couldn't. (She had a boxful, all decorated with sketches of flowers and landscapes) She'd long since come to terms with the realities of loving a Grey Warden--including the Calling. She wasn't going anywhere, regardless of what he said now.  
  
"Yes. And yes," he answered, grinning impishly as he hugged her just a little tighter. "It seems you're stuck with me, Sister Nightingale."  
  
"Oh, no," she deadpanned, stealing a kiss as she settled her arms back around his neck. "What a terrible tragedy. Whatever shall we do?"  
  
Jowan's grin widened and he kicked the door closed. "I have a few ideas..."  
  
For the rest of the night, Leliana was very, _very_ grateful she'd left orders not to be disturbed. And when she watched morning sun flit across Jowan's face as he slept, she realized that she finally felt at peace. And that?  
  
That made it all worth it. 


End file.
